Croissants and Jam

by Lynda Renham

  ‘Your husband has bought lots of wine for you,’ says Luciano proudly, ‘the best of my vineyard.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’ I say fighting to keep the scorn from my voice. ‘Did the credit card cope with the battering dear?’

  ‘My wife, the philistine, no appreciation but knowing her she will be sloshed on it before the night is out.’

  I gasp in shock and am about to retort when he pulls me to him and kisses me roughly on the lips.

  ‘You have swallowed too much wine,’ I snap.

  He shakes Luciano’s hand vigorously.

  ‘So, you must come back and get more for the new house,’ Luciano says taking my hand and shaking it.

  I nod dumbly. We walk towards the Lemon and a thought occurs to me.

  ‘Who do you propose is going to drive the car?’

  He laughs out loud and slaps his thigh.

  ‘Propose, that’s good, getting in the wedding mood are we?’

  I grit my teeth.

  ‘You have drunk too much and so have I.’

  I watch as he carefully places the wine into the boot.

  ‘You speak for yourself. I am fine to drive. Anyway, I have to get you to your wedding.’

  He opens the car door for me. I carefully climb in avoiding all contact with him.

  ‘You seem very keen to get me there,’ I say realising that the thought hurts me a great deal.

  ‘I said I would get you there and I will get you there. Besides I have to be in Rome also.’

  I realise that I only have a few hours of freedom left. I look to Christian who is smiling.

  ‘Chocolate?’ he says simply.

  ‘You know me so well,’ I answer reaching into the back seat for my comfort. I think of the wine in the boot and wonder how he plans to get it back to New York. I shake my head deciding it is not my problem and offer him some chocolate. He winks at me and thoughts of carnal knowledge with him flood my brain like a haemorrhage and I quickly sing along with Bruce Springsteen to crowd them out. Within seconds he joins me and for the next thirty minutes we sing along with Lady Gaga, give Andrea Bocelli backing vocals and head bang to Status Quo while consuming copious amounts of chocolate. I ease my guilt by ordering, on my Blackberry, a keep fit video and sending an enquiry to Diet Chef, asking them to send me further details on their weight loss programme, hinting that we may feature it in the magazine. I feel warm, cosy and happy.

  ‘Shall we stop?’ I say breathlessly on seeing a lay-by. The views of Tuscany are breathtaking and I really want to savour them before finally reaching Rome. I feel him nod and the Lemon slows up. I leave him fumbling in the back of the car and stretch my legs. The sun is hot on my face and I shield my eyes to see the mountains in the distance behind us. The wind whips my dress around my legs and I inhale deeply. I turn to see Christian with a Nikon camera and laugh.

  ‘I should have known you would have a Nikon,’ I say trying not to pose.

  I pull a face for the camera and then turn my back on him.

  ‘I used to have a Canon, does that un-impress you? Come on, face the camera.’

  I turn to look at him and the expression on his face takes me by surprise, and I realise this is the moment. If I really want carnal knowledge of him then this is the time, this is the place. His look clearly tells me, he wants me, and God knows I shamelessly want him.

  ‘I am very unimpressed by a Canon,’ I say feeling myself blush as he takes the pictures.

  ‘I also have a very small instamatic, that is the ultimate in unimpressive isn’t it?’ He is coming closer, and I realise that I can barely move. I struggle not to laugh and an inner voice tells me to get back into the car but instead I say,

  ‘I am about as unimpressed as I can be.’

  He is very close to me now and I inhale deeply.

  ‘I bet I can really un-impress you.’ He moves even closer and I take a step backwards but there is nowhere to go and my back hits a fence. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. I feel his breath close to my ear.

  ‘The car was overheating. I was so relieved when you said to stop.’

  I lift my hand to slap him but he catches it and looks into my eyes.

  ‘You only have a few hours to get to your wedding rehearsal and I think we are on dangerous ground here.’

  He releases my hand and I find myself nodding. My body feels like it is on fire and I take several deep breaths. I watch him lift the bonnet but I do not move, in fact, I am not sure I can.

  ‘I need to top up the radiator. Poor little Lemon is struggling a bit.’

  I let out a small groan and he looks at me.

  ‘It will be okay,’ he assures me.

  Somehow, I do not believe him and the temptation to throw myself off a cliff is overwhelming, but not as overwhelming as the desire to rip all his clothes off. I find myself walking towards him and I can see him looking at me warily. All caution thrown to the wind, I approach him only to be stopped in my tracks by a familiar ringtone on my phone. Good Lord I have been saved by my own mother. Christian’s eyebrows rise.

  ‘My mother,’ I explain.

  I grab the Blackberry from my bag.

  ‘Mother, hi, what a surprise.’

  ‘It certainly is. I was beginning to wonder if my daughter had been kidnapped. Where on earth are you? Do you have any idea of the upset you are causing?’

  I knew there was a reason I should not have answered the phone.

  ‘Mum, I…’

  ‘Listen to me. Simon’s parents are lovely and they are being very good about you not being here but this is enough to send your sister into labour.’

  ‘Well, at least that would take the interest away from me.’

  ‘Bels, I have resisted the impulse to phone you until now, telling myself, you must know what you are doing, but now it looks like you are going to miss your own wedding rehearsal and I just don’t understand why you would do that.’

  I try not to sigh.

  ‘Really, Mother don’t you think a woman’s wedding should be spontaneous and not bloody rehearsed. After all, no one rehearses for their funeral do they?’

  Christian smiles at me.

  ‘My sentiments exactly,’ he whispers.

  ‘Good Lord Annabel, where did such an idea come from? Simon explained…’

  ‘Did you have a rehearsal Mother?’ I ask boldly.

  There is a moment of silence.

  ‘Of course not, besides I got married in England.’

  ‘What has that got to do with it, my wedding is going to be in English at least I bloody hope it is. Or has that changed now? And is he still getting that bloody string quartet?’

  I bite my lip. Christian is staring wide-eyed at me.

  ‘Language Bels, please. I don’t understand any of what you are saying. What happened to your flight anyway? Alex flew here, and she is…’

  ‘The only pregnant woman ever to fly, remind me to get her a medal,’ I break in sarcastically.

  ‘Annabel. Really, what on earth is the matter with you? All you had to do was get here for a dinner…’

  I sigh and look again to Christian who is pulling faces.

  ‘I will be there for dinner, just not that particular dinner.’

  She exhales and when she speaks again I can hear she is controlling her anger.

  ‘I can’t talk to you when you are unreasonable. Your father and I will be waiting for you at the hotel and hopefully you will be here in time to have dinner with us. I will see you later.’

  ‘Goodbye Mother,’ I say quickly before she hangs up.

  I click my phone off.

  ‘My mother,’ I explain again.

  He nods.

  ‘Who won the battle?’

  I shake my head miserably.

  ‘Oh my mother, she used her ace card, my forty-year-old pregnant sister. I can never quite compete with that you see. Seven months pregnant and she gets on a plane. I ask you, is there a bigger achievement than that?’

  He
looks suitably impressed, nodding slowly and with pouted lips,

  ‘No, you’re quite right, you can’t compete with that. You have difficulty getting a flight, let alone staying on a plane.’

  I fake a laugh and walk back to the Lemon. My mother has totally deflated me. I look at the view of the Tuscany countryside which, this time fails to lift my spirit. I feel his arm go around my waist and shudder.

  ‘I never heard her argument but I am convinced it was flawed,’ he whispers looking ahead to the view.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yes, because I will get you there for your wedding.’

  An overwhelming urge to cry engulfs me. What a fool I have been. Christian is not in the least bit interested in me, why on earth did I think he was? I have probably been light entertainment for him. My future awaits me in Rome, and I realise without a shred of doubt that I really do not want to marry Simon, but I now have little choice. I have left it too late. I know that I do not have the courage to call it all off now. With a sinking heart I follow Christian to the Lemon.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For the first time since we started our journey together, we barely talk. I spend much of the journey anticipating married life with Simon. Two hours pass and apart from stopping once, so I can take over the driving, we do not exchange a word. I listen as he phones someone, expecting it to be Claudine but instead he apologises for being late and asks someone to represent him at a meeting. After a while he drives again and scenes of Tuscany fly past me, and I find myself wishing something would happen so I don’t have to arrive in Rome. My stomach rumbles and I look to the back seat. A half-empty bag of stale crisps lies there but nothing else. I look at his serious face and then at the speedometer. My God he is driving fast.

  ‘We are out of food.’

  He looks surprised.

  ‘What about the croissants?’

  I shake my head

  ‘Are we out of chocolate too?’ he asks, surprise in his voice.

  I nod miserably. He looks at me quickly over his sunglasses and is about to speak when there is a loud bang. I scream and stare horrified as smoke billows from the bonnet and the Lemon shudders. Oh no. I know I wished for something to happen but, of course, I didn’t really mean it.

  ‘Damn it,’ he bangs his fist on the steering wheel.

  ‘You were driving too fast,’ I say accusingly. ‘Did we hit something?’

  He shakes his head. The Lemon splutters and stops. Cars screech round us and hoot as they pass.

  ‘I’m not sure what’s happened. I can’t look here. We’ll need to get it off the road.’

  ‘We’ll be killed if we get out of the car,’ I cry, covering my ears with my hands to block out the hooting.

  ‘Don’t be so dramatic. I need you to steer the Lemon while I push it into that entrance ahead. Can you do that?’

  Oh my God, oh my God, of course I can’t. But of course I have to because he is out of the Lemon before I can reply. I feel perspiration staining the armpits of my dress and want to curse. I wipe my forehead with a tissue and climb over into the driving seat. Fifteen minutes later I am still sitting in the Lemon and watch anxiously as Christian looks under the bonnet. He slams it shut and wrinkles his nose at me.

  ‘I think the head gasket has blown but I can’t be sure. Whichever way it goes I can’t drive it to Rome.’

  I bite my lip and suppress a groan. I don’t believe this. He uses his iPhone to search for a garage and I struggle with a Blackberry that has low signal. Not that I have a clue as to what I can tell Simon this time. Christian finally comes off the phone and turns to me with a smile.

  ‘Right, the garage should collect the car in about an hour and they will arrange a taxi to come with them, and that will take us to your hotel. So at a guess I would say we have just less than an hour for you to sort yourself out.’

  I pull a mirror out of my handbag and stare at my face. I look terrible. Strands of hair have escaped the scrunch and are stuck to my neck. My cheeks are red from the heat and my dress is sticking to me.

  ‘God, I look gross,’ I moan as I attempt to straighten my hair.

  ‘Indeed, you have looked better,’ he agrees.

  I throw him a dirty look. He leans into the back seat pulling his hand luggage forward.

  ‘Right, I have some secret supplies in here,’ he says smiling and I marvel at how good he looks in the blue short-sleeved shirt he had bought in the supermarket. His eyes are sparkling as he points ahead of us.

  ‘There is a secluded field down there. I suggest we take the slightly grubby blanket that is in the boot and the supplies, and whatever clothes you need, and you can sort yourself out ready for… what’s his name.’ He waves his hand at me.

  ‘I’ll never forget what’s his name,’ I say absently and find myself laughing like a demented woman.

  ‘Yes, well. Here, take this,’ he says giving me an odd look.

  I take the bag and watch as he grabs the carrier bags, my hand luggage, a blanket and a bottle of water. Meekly I follow him into the field, all thoughts of carnal knowledge wiped from my mind. In a few hours I will be with my family and my fiancé, and it all seems so wrong and yet I seem to have no way out. Christian falls onto the blanket and lies on his back with his face to the sun. Apart from the traffic in the distance the only sounds are the birds singing. I fall onto the grease-stained blanket and rummage through the carrier bag of clothes. I look at them in disgust. Finally, I choose a flowery skirt and a white T-shirt. I lay them carefully out on the blanket and then flop down at the side of him. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of his breathing.

  ‘How did you meet him then?’ he asks between yawns.

  I smile and keep my eyes closed.

  ‘It was one of those boat disco things on the Thames.’

  I feel him move, and I turn my head to see him looking at me.

  ‘Dead romantic was it? Did he sweep you off your feet then?’

  His eyes are hidden by the sunglasses and I fight the desire to remove them. I lower my eyes and can just see the hairs on his chest. I shiver slightly and pull my cardigan tighter. I turn my head away and close my eyes.

  ‘Not really.’

  I’m sure I can feel the heat radiating from him.

  ‘So, if the guy isn’t fun, what is it you like about him?’

  He sits up abruptly and rummages through his hand luggage, finally throwing a bar of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut at me before opening a bag of paprika-flavoured crisps for himself.

  ‘Here, you can have the rejects, I don’t fancy having carrier bags and Remedy Rescue forced on me again.’

  Indulgently, I pop a square of chocolate into my mouth and take some crisps. Christian meanwhile has walked back to the Lemon and returns holding up a bottle.

  ‘Fancy a wee dram,’ he grins, holding up the whisky I had bought at duty-free. My God, that seems such a long time ago.

  ‘This is good whisky, single malt, I am very impressed. Is it for your fiancé?’ He stresses the word fiancé and grins.

  ‘My future father-in-law, actually.’

  He studies the label intently.

  ‘Does he like whisky then?’

  My stomach churns.

  ‘I have no idea,’ I admit honestly.

  ‘Why two bottles? Is he an alcoholic or something? Do you not think one would be sufficient? We should open this one.’

  I raise my eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Well, two bottles is a bit extravagant anyway isn’t it? It will calm you down, come on.’

  I take the plastic cup of whisky and with wild abandonment pop more chocolate. What the hell, I am already on the slippery slope.

  ‘So, what does he do this fiancé of yours?’

  He chinks my cup with his and I stifle my sigh.

  ‘He is a top solicitor. He is very successful.’

  He feigns shock.

  ‘Wow, impressive. He’ll be able to get you off t
his garage robbery then, that’s cool.’

  I give him a disdainful look.

  ‘Well it is better than being a builder,’ I shoot back.

  ‘Come on though, everyone hates solicitors don’t they, you know they do.’

  How dare he mock Simon in this way, at least Simon got to Rome without any hitches.

  ‘He must be a very serious guy though. I mean, all this wedding rehearsal, string quartets and stuff. If you hate string quartets why is he getting one? It’s your wedding too isn’t it?’

  I put my cup down and fall back onto the blanket. He follows me. He is quite right of course, why did Simon even consider a string quartet when we had already decided on a jazz band?

  ‘He just likes to do things properly,’ I say defending him.

  ‘Did he buy you that stupid converter thing?’ he asks with disdain.

  Oh for goodness sake.

  ‘It is not stupid, in fact…’

  ‘Oh come on, either you are spending the money or you’re not. What is the point of converting it, either you can afford it or you can’t?’

  Oh really, that is the limit.

  ‘Ha, you can talk. In the past couple of days you have spent so much money I dread to think what your credit card bill looks like. The Lemon alone was an extravagance, and the wine, I mean that was just ridiculous. You are a fine one to talk… and the house in France,’ I snarl, feeling very angry but not sure why.

  ‘For your information, not that it is your business, I never buy anything I can’t afford, and I would not hire a string quartet if my fiancée did not want one. I would hope to start married life making her happy. Anyway, I am going to take a dip in the river down there and freshen up.’

  For a moment I wonder if I have really hurt his feelings. I have never heard him so harsh before. He leans over me. My skin seems to come alive and my heart thumps. His finger gently touches my lips.

  ‘I expect you not to peep.’

  ‘As if I could be bothered,’ I say biting my lip, knowing damn well I certainly would be bothered and am already wishing I had a pair of binoculars. Minutes later I am straining to see him in the river at the bottom of the field, but of course, it is impossible and I do not have the courage to go any nearer. I look curiously at his hand luggage. Was he serious about not buying anything he could not afford? That would mean that he could afford the house in France and its renovation. Oh bloody hell, what am I doing even wondering about him? I pour more whisky into my cup and throw it back quickly and let out a shudder. Shit, the stuff is strong. Gingerly I pull the leather bag towards me and gently push my hand in, but guilt makes me quickly pull it out again. Damn it. Spotting the Nikon camera, I quickly grab it and focus the telephoto lens onto the river and gasp when I see him floating on his back. With shaking hands I lower the camera and knock back the remainder of my drink and pour more. I feel more courageous and push my hand back in his bag and this time I manage to remove a bulging blue folder. I quickly focus the camera again, sigh at his naked body and then open the folder. For a moment I cannot make out what the papers are and then I realise they are plans for a house. There are numerous diagrams which I push to one side. I go through the rest of the papers quickly and feel disappointment when I realise he is a builder just like I thought. I replace the folder and grab the camera again and check that he is still by the river. He is standing up now and I gasp at the sight of his bum. I strain to get a better look, but I am already slightly tipsy and everything seems blurry. Carefully, I focus in further and hold my breath. Jesus, what am I doing, in a matter of days I will be marrying Simon. For God’s sake get a grip. Distracted by a buzzing, I turn to see a bumblebee the size of a golf ball. I jolt back, trying not to spill the whisky I am holding in my left hand. Balancing Christian’s camera in my right, I shoo the beast away from my face while shaking my head to keep the insect out of my hair. There is a click from the camera and shit, shit, I have taken a photo of Christian’s backside. I dive back down onto the blanket and peer to see if he is looking back at me but without the bloody camera I can’t see bugger all. I replace the lens cap and take a deep breath. Hastily I wash my face and underarms with the wet wipes I had bought and release my hair from the scrunch. He returns with his hair wet and his face slightly pink. I feel my legs go weak. He puts on a short-sleeved top and flops down on to the blanket.